Fall of the Whitefist
by Shaman of Sarcasm
Summary: Petra Whitefist was taught to heal, to nurture. It didn't take long for the world she thought she knew to be broken down, right in front of her. And when she finds out she's Dovahkiin, everyone wants her to fight for their side. But whose side is right?


**A/N - Wow, am I bad at summaries or what? No idea where I'm going with this story yet, so I guess... let's just enjoy the ride.**

"Mika? Mika, wake up, the animals are getting fussy," said Petra, yanking the covers off her younger sibling. The child curled up and rolled away from Petra towards the opposite end of the bed. "Come on, get up. Go take care of the animals and I'll have food ready when you come back in."

There was a groan, but Mika slid off the bed. "When is papa coming back? He's been gone for months now. He used to be the one to take care of the animals..."

Petra moved to her sister's side with a comb and a tunic.

"Here, change into this." Mika slid the dress on, while Petra set to work combing the curly head of hair. There was always an overabundance of tangles. In the entire family, Mika was the only one to possess curled locks.

"Father was summoned by the Jarl, there's no telling when he'll return. There, all combed and tidy. Now, off you go."

"Why do you even try? I always come back in covered in mud. The ram hates me. He knocked me into the mud the other day... at least when dad was around he could calm the stupid animal." After Mika had expressed all her complaints, she picked up a bucket filled with feed and headed outdoors.

Petra straightened the bed and picked up Mika's dirty linens. They really were covered in mud. Maybe she should set to work on learning a Calm spell for the ram if it was acting up. But then, Petra could see Mika being the antagonizer in the situation.

"I don't know! Just go away! Leave me alone!"

That was Mika. Petra's heart was filled with dread. Someone was out there. She rushed out of the bedroom, grabbing a small dagger off the kitchen table and readying a Flames spell just in case. She'd never been in a fight before. She actually considered herself a pacifist, so she had no idea what she planned on doing. But the sheer terror in her sister's voice...

Petra peered out the kitchen window. What she saw was... abhorrent.

A pair of Imperial Legion soldiers had surrounded her little sister, and one had hold of her arm. There was a wagon train filled with bound prisoners waiting on the trail. What they intended to do with her little sister, Petra had no idea.

Gathering her nerves, Petra marched outside, trying to look as intimidating as possible. She had the height advantage on the soldiers at the very least, thanks to her Nord and Altmer heritage. Even so, Petra wasn't one for confrontation.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, leveling her spellhand at the soldier who was still holding on to her sister.

The soldiers traded glances, smiling at each other. Petra felt like she was being mocked somehow.

"What are _you_ doing, Nord? Are you _threatening_ a member of the Imperial Legion? I should hope not, that never turns out well." The soldier that spoke, the shortest of the two and with red stubble speckling his chin, advanced on her. He drew his sword. "What kind of Nord uses magick anyway?"

Petra wanted nothing more than to panic. Oh, how she wished her parents were home. She wasn't very good at handling these sorts of situations. "Mika, get inside and bar the door." Petra lowered her hand and stepped back a few feet. That was stupid of her, baiting a professionally trained soldier.

Mika dodged away from the grasps of both soldiers. She made it to the doorframe and looked back, tears streaming down her face. Petra nodded, and Mika closed the door. She hoped Mika would hide somewhere. In the crawlspace, maybe, but she knew Mika would watch from the window.

"I... I'm sorry about before. I overreacted, but, but what do you want here? We've not done anything. And if you're looking for our parents, they aren't here. My father's away, and my mother had to return to her homeland."

The Imperial soldier sheathed his sword, thankfully. "We've received reports that your family sympathizes with the Stormcloak rebellion."

"Th- that's ludicrous! My mother was an Altmer. The Stormcloak's want only Nords in Skyrim, why would I-my family, why would my family support them."

The soldier raised an eyebrow. He turned and walked to one of the wagons, and pulled a soggy brown sack out. He turned it over, the contents spilling out onto the dirt.

Petra turned away, tears springing forth. It was Grognar, her father's head. She fell to her knees, wanting nothing more than her mother to come and console her. She hoped to Talos that her sister wasn't looking.

"Your father was caught aiding Stormcloak soldiers just near here. Do you have an explanation?"

"He's, he's a _healer_. One of the best. He has no sides, only duties. The Jarl summoned him to aid-"

"And which Jarl would that be?"

_Oh. _Petra could see where this was headed, and it was not good. She choked back her remaining tears. "We don't really consider ourselves part of any hold, since we're so isolated. My father is... his skills are very renowned. No matter who calls for him, be it the Jarl of Falkreath or..."

"Which Jarl, Nord?"

"The... Jarl of Windhelm. Jarl Ulfric. But he doesn't..." Petra glanced had her father's severed head again. She had to fight against throwing up. "...He didn't... have any affiliation with the Stormcloaks, I assure you. He was just performing his duty as a healer."

The soldier turned to his companion. "Arrest her. Bring her in for questioning."

Petra stood up on shaky legs as the soldiers advanced on her. She held the knife in front of her. "Don't come ne-" A scabbard smacked across her face, knocking her to the ground. She tried to crawl away, back towards the house, but they clamped down on her legs, impeding all movement. Petra glanced at the window just in time to see Mka's head duck out of sight. It was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

**: . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : . : **

When Petra came to, her hands and feet were bound, and she was riding on a rickety wagon. Her face was throbbing, and she could barely see out of her left eye with how swollen that side had become. Scabbards hurt.

"You were very brave back there."

Petra lifted her head toward the voice, pain lancing through her body at the movement. A middle aged Nord was staring at her with concern. He wore the Stormcloak armor. She turned away in revulsion. This was all Jarl Ulfric's fault.

"I'm sorry about your father, Grognar. May he find peace in Sovngarde," the Nord continued. He lifted her chin with his bound hands when she refused to look at him. "Really. He was a good man, very valiant, though he had a unique way of showing it. He never raised blade against the Imperials, but-"

"Shut up back there," a soldier snarled, causing Petra to flinch. The thought of those two men attacking her was still fresh in her mind.

The Nord across from her lowered his voice and continued talking. "He refused to stand down when the Imperials came, and they swarmed him. They showed nothing but cowardice, attacking an unarmed man."

"Did he...did he say anything? About Mika and me? Or mom? Before they..."

"No, he was all business when he was there. I'm sorry. And...that little girl back there...your sister."

"They didn't do anything to her, did they? She's only nine, too young to understand any of this."

"Ha, the Imperials don't know mercy," a different Nord said, a dark haired one. He was dressed in rags and covered in dirt, no sign of being a Stormcloak on him.

"Quiet, horse-thief, have you no pity for a woman grieving?"

"Pity? What about you and your band of Stormcloaks? Had it not been for you, I would have made it out unnoticed on that horse. You all just had to go and stir up trouble." The dark haired Nord sneered. Looking at Petra, he said, "Me and you, we shouldn't be in this mess. We're not rebels. I saw what they did to you, back at that house. Torture, is what that was. I'm Lokir of Rorikstead."

Petra couldn't help but feel put off by the horsethief. There was just something about him... even if he wasn't part of the Stormcloaks. "I'm Petra Whitefist."

"An unusual name," the fairhaired Nord said with a slight nod. "I'm Ralof of Riverwood."

"What's wrong with him?" Lokir asked, motioning towards a fourth man in the carriage. Petra hadn't even noticed him, he had remained so silent. It was another Nord, another Stormcloak most likely. The clothes he wore were much more ornate than Ralof's, though. There was a gag in his mouth. His eyes burned with fury, and Petra couldn't help but shrink back when he turned that gaze on her.

"Watch your tongue, horsethief. That is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm. The _true_ High King."

_Jarl Ulfric? Then... he was the one that had summoned her father. The one truly responsible for all this._

"Ulfric? Then...if they have Ulfric... where are the Imperials taking us?"

Right as he said it, fortified walls came into view. There was a troop of soldiers pacing around on horses. As they approached, they began calling out terribly rude things.

"Sovngarde awaits," said Ralof, bowing his head.

"They can't do this! They can't! I'm not with them, you have to understand! Please!" pleaded Lokir as he turned around in his seat to look at the soldiers. "You have to understand! I'm not a rebel!"

Civilians shook their head as the wagon passed and went inside. One little girl even made eye contact with Petra, and mouthed something, but Petra couldn't make it out.

Finally, the wagon came to a stop, and they all unboarded one by one. Petra was the last to get off. Their names were called, and everyone slowly filed off to stand in a line, all except Lokir, who had made a foolhardy attempt to escape. His effort was stopped by an arrow to the knee, and then a soldier quickly slit his throat.

Petra stood awkwardly, waiting for them to call her name, but they never did. Eventually, a stocky brown haired Nord in Imperial armor came up to her. "What should we do with her?" he said, looking at a female officer. "They picked her up a while back."

"To the block," the officer growled out.

"I'm sorry, kinsman, for what happened.." There was a pause. After making sure no one was watching, he leaned in and whispered, "They burned your house, but your sister got away safely, I promise."

Petra nodded. At least Mika would be safe in the end. But where could she go now, with no home to return to, and a mother countries away?

There was a thunderous roar off in the distance. Was that Sovngarde opening its gates for her?

As they all waited in line to die, a tingling sensation welled up in her. Was this brought on by her impending death? It was something she'd never felt before, something so . . . hard to describe.

"Next! Nord in the rags!"

She snapped to attention. This was it. Her time to die. She stood before the block, looking down at the head of the poor man that came before her. They weren't even going to clean it off.

Once again, the roar came, right as a hand pushed down on her back, forcing her to her knees. Slowly, she laid her head on the block, and closed her eyes. It felt like everything was slowing down.

"What is that!"

The ground shuddered, and her eyes popped open out of habit, only to come face to face with a dragon. The dragon roared something at her, and this time the whole world seemed to shudder. The world turned black, and Petra felt herself unable to run. Was this fear, weighing her down?

"DRAGON, DRAGON, RUN!"

There wasn't any time for fear. Petra was on her feet, dashing towards an opened door while also trying to avoid the fires that had started up everywhere. Right as she crossed the threshold to the tower, she looked back. The whole world was on fire.

"Come on, girl, get inside, inside."

Petra was pulled into the room, and a heavy wooden door closed behind her.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn town building, Ralof. We need to move, now!"

"Right, glad to see you're still alive, girl." Ralof grinned at her, his face covered in soot. "Up the stairs, now, go, go, go!"

So Petra went, dragging her feet up the stairs with Ralof guiding her up, a hand placed on her back, making sure she didn't falter. They were almost to the top when the dragon slammed through the wall, debris flying everywhere. Petra would have rolled down back down the stairs if Ralof hadn't caught her wrist and pulled her back up. The dragon flew away, leaving a gaping hole.

"Jump over to that house, we'll follow when we can!" Ralof pushed her forward gently.

Despite the hardened bundle of nerves in the pit of her stomach, Petra closed her eyes and jumped. Her feet slammed down on the wood, and she had a moment of peace before the floor collapsed. Petra fell further, and soon, the flames surrounded her in a ring. The flames edged closer, and closer, and soon they licked at her skin, sending up the smell of burning flesh and hair...

**A/N - Critiques are more than welcome! My writing is far from perfect! Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit. :)  
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